An Aside: This one...this one is for Moses Serubiri.
I said grace for her heart with a shrug and a steak knife. I like steak knives and even though they can be unwieldy to use at times when they’re sharpened to pointed perfection, they can be pretty fun too.
There were seven of us at the table that evening and as blade tip pierced still beating flesh, I played hide and seek with a dark, spry smile and watched the others howling and hooting and chomping at the bits like a pack of ravenous dogs.
“Hunger. Hunger you will not stay here for long.” I thought as I divided the heart into seven healthy, even chunks. Raw, just the way they liked it.
They say that seven is the number of perfection, of completeness…and hers was heart number seven. A long road it had been. Long and arduous with beautifully decayed corpses thrown carelessly into its trenches. Who knew what we would do after we had licked the last of her blood off our fingers and sipped the last of the wine we had bought specifically for this occasion? Life was an empty space when you had no soul to consume.
With plates in front of places it was not long before the other six had blood smeared faces, sadistic laughter cackling from throats as teeth worked and pieces of soul and spirit and love and life were devoured. I, however, took my time. Savored it. What was the hell was point if you neglected to embrace the pleasure to be found in it?
Knife, fork; left, right; cut, spear; chew, swallow. Sip…sip…sip…swallow and wash it all down.
No words were said, none were needed. We all felt it, the rejuvenation. And as the last of our plates were emptied, the Devil sat in the corner tapping his foot to Corrine Bailey Rae humming,
Chains…chains…chains…
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